


Wake-up Call

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-05
Updated: 2006-07-05
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: When Harry wakes up after a night of partying and finds his best friend in his bed, he decides the best thing to do is pretend it never happened.





	Wake-up Call

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for the 2005 hpvalensmut fic exchange as a gift for beren_writes.    


* * *

Voldemort was dead.

They’d found him hiding in a cave, weakened from the gradual destruction of each errant bit of his soul, accompanied by only a few of his most loyal followers. Most of his Death Eaters had been captured by Aurors in the previous months, filling Azkaban nearly to capacity, and the rest had either deserted their feeble and increasingly senile leader, or had died at the hands of one side or the other.

Voldemort went out with more of a whimper than a bang, his weakened heart stopped by a too-strong _stupefy_. Harry was grateful that he hadn’t needed to resort to unforgivables to bring the bastard down. They burned his body with phoenix fire, watching as he was reduced to nothing but a small pile of white ash, and then hurriedly sent off owls to the Ministry and the Daily Prophet announcing it truly was over.

The following revels had lasted the entire night, as everyone clapped Harry on the back and bought him dozens of drinks, toasting the Dark Lord’s demise over and over again until the it all just faded into a haze of cheers and alcohol and boisterous voices.

The hangover Harry was suffering the next morning was an expected by-product of the celebrations. The warm body pressed up against his back was not.

Harry's eyes snapped open at the realization he was not alone in bed; probably not the best idea, considering his hangover. The sunlight coming from the window effectively blinded him, and intensified his aching head. He opened his eyes again, this time squinting against the light and tried to figure out where he was.

The walls were bright orange. Chudley Cannons orange.

Harry groaned. He was naked and hungover in Ron’s room, on Ron’s bed, and if the sensations in his body were anything to go by, he’s definitely had sex in Ron’s bed.

Ron was definitely not going to be happy. Harry shifted slightly and tried to see who was curled up behind him. He stopped short at sensation of hardened flesh pressing against his lower back. Harry’d not only had sex in Ron’s bed, but with a man.

Ron was going to murder him.

Harry’s bed partner mumbled something incoherent and tightened his hold on Harry's waist, splaying one large hand across Harry’s abdomen, and settled his erection between Harry’s buttocks. Harry tried desperately to quell his body’s reaction, but it was useless. He hoped the man didn’t notice his state of involuntary arousal. Carefully, he wormed his way out of the man’s grasp and tried to get a look at him.

The sight of bright red hair made Harry’s stomach drop. He summoned his glasses, praying it wasn’t what he feared, but his suspicion was only confirmed as his vision sharpened to clarity.

He’d slept with Ron.

Harry closed his eyes at the shudder of memory that passed through him - the warm weight of Ron’s body cradled between his thighs, the slick hot slide within him filling him completely, the rough stroke of Ron’s calloused fingers, chapped lips catching him with a melting kiss - he could still hear the mantra spilling from his own lips with each heart-filling thrust: _Ron, oh God, love you Ron, so good, love you so much._

They'd been so drunk that night, and Harry couldn’t stop himself. He'd lured his very straight best friend, who he’d been in love with for longer than he could remember, into bed with him and effectively ruined their friendship. Harry began to gather his clothes, wanting to erase the ghost of Ron’s touch from his body. It would ruin their friendship if Ron knew. He’d surely hate Harry for forcing this on him.

Harry tugged on his trousers and found his shirt and shoes. Maybe, he thought, if Ron woke up alone he would think it was just a dream, or maybe he wouldn’t remember at all. Taking one last look at Ron’s sleeping form, Harry ignored the pang in his chest and headed back to his own cold, empty bed.

~~~

The most annoying thing about sharing a flat with Hermione and Ron , besides the near impossibility of getting time to yourself, was Hermione’s propensity for dragging Harry out of bed at ungodly hours. Today, however, it was most welcome. Harry had spent the hour since he’d crawled back into his bed tossing and turning, imagining the horror in Ron’s eyes when he realized what he’d done. When Hermione appeared at his bedside with a hangover potion and a cup of coffee, he was more than grateful.

Harry sat up, downing the potion in one go, and, grimacing, chased it with a gulp of coffee. Hermione settled next to him, smoothing his bedhead back in a motherly gesture.

“Care to tell me why it is that you’re sleeping in your own bed and not Ron’s?”

Harry's jaw dropped open. They’d been seen? This was beyond bad. If Ron got teased about it from someone else-

“It’s okay,” Hermione chuckled when she saw his horrified expression, “I caught you in the hallway. I doubt anyone else saw.”

The hallway - he’d pressed Ron up against the wall, intoxicated with the feel of lips and hands and hips meshing together, hot and sweet and perfect.

Harry shivered. “Please don’t- Don’t say anything to Ron. I think it’s best if we forget it ever happened.”

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed together with concern. “But I thought this was what you wanted! You can’t just throw away-”

“One of the most important friendships I’ve got?” Harry finished, “I can’t risk losing Ron to this. He’d be horrified and angry and it’s just best if he isn’t reminded of it.” It hurt to say it, but Harry knew it was the only way.

“Harry-” Hermione looked at him sadly.

“Besides, he might not even remember it happened.”

Hermione nodded and squeezed his hand comfortingly. “There’s eggs and toast downstairs.”

~~~

Breakfast went well enough until Ron ambled in. He was wearing his favorite pair of worn cotton pajama bottoms, the ones that rode sinfully low on his hips, and no shirt. You could see the outlines of his lean muscles beneath his lightly freckled skin. Harry wondered if there was a discreet way to spell away the love bite he'd left on Ron’s collarbone. As it was, a flush was making its way up Harry’s cheeks at the memory of it, the way Ron had moaned and writhed under Harry has he’d sucked and licked at Ron’s warm skin.

Ron noticed Harry’s blush and grinned at him lopsidedly. “Have a fun night, Harry?”

Harry trained his eyes on his plate, pushing around his eggs with his fork. “It was a nice party,” he mumbled, unsuccessfully willing his pink cheeks to fade back to their usual shade of pale.

“Eggs, Ron?” Hermione piped in, herding Ron into his seat. Harry gave her a grateful smile and went back to pretending to eat. Without waiting for Ron to answer, she filled his plate with a large pile of scrambled eggs and gave him a stack of buttered toast.

“Fanks, Mione,” Ron said as he shoveled food into his mouth and swallowed it down. “I certainly need the energy after last night.” Harry’s cheeks burned and he tried to cover it by taking a gulp of orange juice. Inadvertently, he caught a glimpse of Ron drinking from his own glass, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the column of Ron’s throat, remembering the taste of the skin under the line of Ron’s jaw. He’d licked there, desperate for taste and touch as Ron had pressed slick fingers into Harry, stretching him with achingly tender care. He closed his eyes at the thought, phantom sensation descending on his skin. This was not working.

Someone touched his hand and Harry looked up to see Ron’s blue eyes staring at him, his hand still covering Harry’s. “You all right there, Harry?”

Harry couldn’t speak for fear of opening his mouth and confessing everything to Ron. He had to get out of there, and fast. He pulled his hand away from Ron and walked his plate to the sink. Hermione put her hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, are you sure this is the best-”

“I’ve got to go,” he cut her off tersely, and practically ran upstairs to his bedroom, locking himself in and collapsing into his armchair.

Not five minutes later, the doorknob rattled. “Harry?” it was Ron. Harry buried his face in his hands.

“I’m busy,” he called out shakily.

“Harry, let me in, I need to talk to you!” Ron banged on the door loudly and Harry cringed.

“I said, I’m busy!”

The pounding continued. “Don’t make me blast this door off its hinges, Harry Potter!” Ron called out. Harry sighed and unlocked the door. It was useless trying to keep Ron out. He could be a persistent bugger when he wanted to be, and Harry didn’t doubt that Ron would do just what he threatened if Harry held off too long. Ron opened the door and strode in, plopping down on Harry’s bed. He was still shirtless and utterly distracting.

“I have a bit of a problem,” Ron said as Harry curled back up in his armchair on the other side of the room.

“It’s not a good time, Ron,” Harry said weakly, hugging his knee and putting his head down. Ron ignored him.

“See, I think I slept with someone last night.” Ron sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, “but I woke up this morning and they were gone and now I’m afraid they don’t remember what happened. Or maybe they regret it, I‘m not sure.”

“Ron-” Harry breathed, deflated.

“And now,” Ron continued, not letting Harry speak, “I’m upset because I thought they had wanted it too. It was amazing, last night, and I was hoping that maybe it could be something more.” Harry looked up, and found Ron staring intently at him. “I’m not sure I could go back to just being friends, Harry,” Ron said quietly.

Harry looked up at him pleadingly, not yet allowing his heart to hope. “I don't think this is a good-”

“Well I think you’re full of shite.” Ron got off the bed and moved toward Harry. “Maybe it was just sex to you, but I woke up cold this morning and I- I missed holding you.” He knelt in front of Harry, cupping his face in large hands.

Harry's chest ached like it would burst, and Ron was so damn near. His mind was spinning. Never had he imagined that Ron would feel the same way. Never had the thought this could happen.

“But I thought you were straight,” Harry mumbled uselessly.

Ron smiled, a beautiful genuine smile of happiness, and Harry couldn’t help but smile back. “Honestly, I’m a bit confused too. All I know is that somehow, even though I didn’t know it, it’s been you for a long, long time. Guess you could say I‘m Harry-sexual,” Ron said cheekily as leaned in and pressed his lips to Harry’s.

As far as kisses go, it was tame, just a soft meeting of lips, but there was something there, something Harry recognized from the previous night, that sent a delicious shiver up his spine. Ron tangled his fingers in Harry’s too-long hair and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against into Harry’s pliant mouth. Harry couldn’t help but moan aloud and wind his arms around Ron’s neck. It was dizzying to be kissed like this, surrounded by Ron, suddenly filled with the joy of having everything you’ve wanted and so much more. Harry never wanted it to stop.

When they finally pulled apart for air, Ron leaned his forehead against Harry’s, lips parted and eyes wide. “God, Harry,” he breathed. Harry tilted his mouth up to be kissed again, but Ron had other ideas. He pulled Harry into the bed and climbed on after him. Harry leaned forward and licked Ron's flat pink nipple, drawing a soft gasp from Ron. His hands slid down Ron's chest before hooking fingers under the waist of Ron’s pajama bottoms, but Ron flipped them over so he was straddling Harry’s legs. Harry could feel Ron’s cock, hard against his thigh as Ron set to work on the buttons of Harry’s pajama shirt. He undid each button slowly, tasting each new bit of skin as it was revealed. Each heated flick of Ron’s tongue made Harry writhe with pleasure, overwhelmed with Ron’s touch.

“Didn’t get a chance to do this last night,” Ron murmured before dipping his tongue into Harry’s navel. Harry chewed his lower lip in an effort not to cry out. He watched, transfixed, as Ron tugged down his pajama bottoms carefully and lowered his mouth to Harry’s cock.

It was heavenly. Harry was torn between the urge to watch Ron’s lips wrapped around his aching cock and the fear that he’d be finished before it even began. Ron’s hands were traveling across Harry’s skin, stroking his thighs, fondling his bollocks as Ron first mouthed just the head and then drew Harry's cock into his mouth with gentle suction.

Harry opened his eyes, unable to resist any longer, and buried his fingers in red hair. He felt like he was floating, and the silky weight of Ron’s hair between his fingers was the only thing keeping him on the ground. Ron’s mouth was perfect, driving him dizzy with want, hot and wet and sucking in just the right ways.

“Oh God oh God oh God,” he moaned softly as Ron brushed a moistened finger against his arsehole and then pressed in just a bit and Harry felt it: that tightening, pulsing pleasure in his bollocks, like every bit of him was going to explode from his cock. “Gonna- _God_ ,” he warned with a groan, and came with white force, gasping and stiffening as he spurted hot seed into Ron’s mouth. Ron swallowed as best he could, although a bit dribbled out the corner of his mouth. He cringed a little and wiped his mouth on Harry’s discarded pajamas before crawling up to lie next to him. Harry lay back, gloriously sated.

“Doesn’t taste as good as they make it seem in the magazines,” Ron said with a little chuckle before leaning in to kiss Harry‘s mouth, languidly sliding their tongues together. Harry wrapped his arms around Ron, not ever wanting to let go of this amazing thing they had.

“Promise me,” Ron said when he pulled back, “that you’ll let me make my own decisions from now on.” He began to trail kisses down Harry’s neck to his collarbone. Harry hooked one leg around Ron's thigh and pressed their bodies together so he could feel Ron’s erection against his thigh.

“Agreed,” he said with a kiss, and then flipped them over so he was on top of Ron. “I plan on taking advantage of this as much as possible,” he said with a grin as he began kissing and licking his way down Ron’s bare chest.  



End file.
